


Second Helpings

by superstringtheory



Series: Dinner Date [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Belly Kink, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Feeding, Feeding Kink, Light Dom/sub, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:28:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superstringtheory/pseuds/superstringtheory
Summary: Joyce tastes like coffee and cigarettes, and like caffeine and nicotine, he’s an addict.(Or, Joyce stuffs Hopper silly and then sucks him off in the front seat of her Oldsmobile.)





	Second Helpings

“Fifteen pounds,” Hopper says, and if Joyce’s expression gets any happier, she’s going to bite through her lip. “Fifteen pounds in, what, two months? Jesus, woman.” 

 

He hugs her to him, and she tucks herself underneath his arm, his tiny bird-boned woman. 

 

“You’re a single dad eating like shit,” Joyce replies pertly, and Hopper squeezes her. 

 

“Not so single anymore.” He feels himself grinning. “And your food isn’t shit.” 

 

“I never said my cooking was shit,” Joyce counters, and Hopper grimaces. He’s always putting his foot in it- he can’t help it around her. It’s been two months of dinner dates and meeting for lunch and even a few sleepovers but even so-- she flusters him. 

 

“I said you ate like shit,” she finishes, and pokes him in the gut to make a point. 

 

“Hey,” Hopper says, catching her hand. “Hands off the merchandise. You break it, you bought it.” 

 

“And what if I’m in the mood to buy?” She blinks up at him, and Hopper leans down to kiss her just because he can. He can feel his heart rate go up just at the feel of her lips. She smells like Avon perfume and a hint of Vidal Sassoon shampoo, and he could get drunk just on that scent. 

 

“I thought you said you were taking me to lunch,” Hopper says, and Joyce’s face lights up. 

 

“That’s right,” she says, a twinkle in her eye. “And I’m buying.” 

 

*** 

 

Hopper drives her car, but Joyce directs him, telling him where to turn. 

 

“I get it,” Hopper says after a while, when the radio station’s in between Cyndi Lauper and Prince. “You’re taking me out in the woods to kill me.”

 

Joyce grins. “Take a left up there, baby,” she says. “We’re almost there.” 

 

It’s not as if Hopper didn’t know- long days as a police officer have him knowing this county’s geography like the back of his own hand- but he likes to play dumb sometimes, especially if it’ll make Joyce laugh or smile. God, he’d do pretty much anything for that. 

 

Miss Jessie’s is an anachronism, seemingly lost in both time and space- a ‘50s-era soul food diner out on the outskirts of a small town in Indiana. Hopper has no idea how they’ve made a go of it all these years, way out here-- except for the fact that every forkful is delicious and every time he’s been, he’s ended up ordering more than he intended to-- and eating every single bite. 

 

*** 

 

The proprietress had died years before Hopper started frequenting Miss Jessie’s, but a large painting of a chubby-cheeked African-American woman holding a pie hangs proudly next to the menu on the wall. Hopper’s always gotten a feeling that Miss Jessie was a founding member of the clean plates club. 

 

Joyce, meanwhile, is working on getting her own chapter.  

 

“C’mon, Hop,” she wheedles. “It’s not much more.” 

 

Hopper raises both eyebrows at her. “Not much more. Hmm, let’s see. I’ve already put away enough fried chicken to choke a horse, and now you want me to finish up your okra and cornbread. Is that right?” 

 

Joyce blushes a little, twisting her fork in her hand. She’s hardly touched her food, because she’s crafty like that. 

 

“And I suppose you’ll be wanting to order dessert,” Hopper finishes, and Joyce bites her lip. 

 

“Peach cobbler and a slice of pecan pie,” she says in a rush. “... I’ll get the pie to-go.” 

 

Hopper sighs, but picks his fork back up. “Jesus, what you do to me, woman.” 

 

Joyce covers her mouth with her hand, but he can tell she’s smiling. 

 

*** 

 

After the rest of Joyce’s meal and the cobbler, Hopper feels like he needs to lie down and take a nap for the next hour. Or maybe the rest of the day. 

 

Christ, he’s full. 

 

“I’m not going to be able to go back to work like this,” Hopper says when Joyce comes back to the table after paying their bill. He’s panting a little. And it’s true, his uniform’s been looking a little tight lately even before he has breakfast, but now, his buttons are visibly straining and he feels like one might pop if he breathes out too hard. 

 

Not that he can do that now in any case- he’s so stuffed that he can’t even take a full breath, and he’s arched back into the diner booth, trying to summon up the energy to move. 

 

“Aww,” Joyce croons, voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Did you eat too much, baby?” 

 

Hopper opens his mouth to retort, but a large burp works its way out before he can say anything. 

 

“Pardon me,” he says, patting his gut. “But I think that’s--  _ urp _ \-- your answer.” 

 

Joyce goes pink around the edges again, and Hopper grins. 

 

“Now are you gonna help me up, or what?” 

 

*** 

 

Joyce is remarkably strong for such a petite woman, and she has Hopper on his feet in no time. She’s obviously antsy to get back to the car, but gives him a minute to acclimatize. His stomach makes a gurgling, whiny sound as its contents resettle, and Hopper stifles another burp into his fist. 

 

“You’re going to put me in a food coma,” he tells Joyce, nodding at the doggie bag she’s holding. 

 

“I hope so,” Joyce says, and the look on her face is all the motivation he needs to get moving towards the door and the car. 

 

*** 

 

“I’ll drive,” Joyce says when they get out to the parking lot, and seems to have a grand old time watching Hopper dig the car keys out of his pants pocket. 

 

“Pants a little tight?” she asks innocently, then steps towards him. “Here, lemme help.” She sets the doggie bag on top of the Oldsmobile’s trunk, then reaches for Hopper. 

 

“Suck in a little, sweetie,” she says after a few moments of trying to get his pants button undone. 

 

Hopper groans, but does his best, and a second later, his full gut is surging forward into that glorious space, pants unzipping of their own accord. He sighs in relief, then groans again as Joyce hefts his belly with her hands, then lets it drop. 

 

“Careful--  _ urp _ \-- on the merchandise,” Hopper manages, steadying himself on the car. 

 

“I bought it, so I can do what I want with it,” Joyce retorts, snagging the doggie bag and then giving Hopper a little nudge with her hip. “Now get in the car, sweets, so you can have your dessert.” 

 

*** 

“It’s actually my second dessert,” Hopper points out as Joyce eases the Olds into park. She’s chosen an out of the way lovers’ lane, and Hopper wonders what would’ve happened if he’d taken her here back in high school, if everything would’ve turned out differently. 

 

“I know,” Joyce says. “But I also know you’ve got room in there.” She thumps him on the gut and he belches in surprise. 

 

“Here--” Joyce leans over him, unbuckling his seatbelt for him, then popping open the glove compartment and deftly retrieving a plastic fork. “-- let’s get you comfortable.” She reaches down between the seats and suddenly he’s lying back and she’s laughing. 

 

“The look on your face, Jim--” And he catches her wrist and pulls her to him for a kiss. 

 

Joyce tastes like coffee and cigarettes, and like caffeine and nicotine, he’s an addict. 

 

*** 

 

The piece of pie isn’t ungenerous. From Hopper’s point of view right now, lying back in his seat, it looks huge- he rolls his head over to the side of the headrest and slits his eyes open. 

 

“You expect me to finish all that?” He inclines his head, knowing that Joyce likes when she sees his chin double, although maybe he doesn’t need to look down for that so much anymore. 

 

This is the game they play, tightrope walking when they both know they’re on a string on the ground. 

 

“I think you’ve got room.” Joyce bites her lip, and he’d eat ‘til he split his skin to keep turning her on like this. 

 

“Let’s bet on it.” Hopper heaves himself up to a sitting position, but Joyce swings a leg over him and presses her hand into his chest, pushing him back into the seat. 

 

“No,” she says firmly. “Like this, Jim.” 

 

And she shows him how she wants it, like she’s been doing it from the beginning, and Hopper’s just fine with that. He spends enough of his time being a new dad to a moody and psychokinetic teenager, being Sheriff, pillar of the town, that his time with Joyce leaves him with a desire to be pliant and good, to listen and do exactly what she says. 

 

“Open your mouth,” Joyce says, and Hopper opens. He opens, and swallows, and then Joyce takes her shirt off, and then she makes him lift his hips so she can wrestle his too-tight pants down his hips. And then she jiggles his belly fat and makes him take several enormous bites until the pie is gone and his stomach is making unhappy overfull noises. 

 

“Good boy,” Joyce says, and then she’s reaching down between his legs, and his seat is moving back. There’s a certain twinkle in Joyce’s eye. 

 

“Hey, Hop,” she says. “Do me a favor, reach over and grab that bag, would you?” 

 

Hopper just looks at her, but she raises an eyebrow and he hefts himself up and grabs the bag, then rests it on his gut to peek inside. 

 

“Oh, Jesus,” he says when he sees it. “I’m a goner.” 

 

Joyce grins. “You suck… and I… you know.” She winks, and Hopper gives his stomach a resigned pat.

 

“It’s okay, buddy,” he tells it. “It’s worth it, I promise.” 

 

*** 

 

And it is. Joyce tells him he can come when he’s only halfway through the chocolate milkshake, and he orgasms in a haze of overfull sensation. 

 

“You’re so good,” he manages to say, feeling around for Joyce’s hand, then squeezing it. He squints an eye open. “You want…?” 

 

He’s not sure what he can do in this state in any case, but Joyce shakes her head. 

 

“Later,” she says. “Right now, I want to get home so I can take care of you. You did so good for me, Hop.” 

 

Hopper’s not sure what to say to that, so he closes his eyes and drifts for a bit, letting Joyce run her fingers through his hair. It’s nice, being here with her, and he dozes in that warm, compliant feeling, stomach digesting noisily. 

 

*** 

 

“Forget about going to work,” Hopper says when he feels coherent. “I don’t think I can go home like this.” He feels like a turtle on its back, or a tick so gorged with blood it can’t even move. 

 

“That’s okay,” Joyce says. “I’ll call school and tell Will to bring El home with him. They can have a sleepover. Tomorrow’s the weekend.” 

 

“If you’re sure…” Hopper’s still too full to even debate it. 

 

Joyce nods, decided. “I’ll make breakfast.” 

 

***** 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr at superstringtheory.tumblr.com- I'm always up to chat about fat!Hopper (or pretty much anything else). :)


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